


Christmas 2.0

by J_Baillier



Series: You Go To My Head [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And dear god John likes it, Autism Spectrum, Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Family Issues, Food Aversions, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Promise of Christmas cock, Romance, Zurich, anaesthetist!John, and a foul mouth, neurosurgeon!Sherlock, sherlock has a sweet tooth, the Drs are back sooner than anyone probably thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21833797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Baillier/pseuds/J_Baillier
Summary: As agreed upon in "Wide Awake", the extended Holmes clan is spending Christmas in Zurich. Will Violet behave, and could this be the year which helps even Sherlock discover some holiday cheer?
Relationships: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes' Family, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Violet Holmes & Sherlock Holmes
Series: You Go To My Head [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/392395
Comments: 81
Kudos: 292





	Christmas 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> [[an index and guide to all my Sherlock stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011148)]

"I still feel it's rather a waste of Guillermo's services that you're doing that yourself. Why bother, when we have a skilled professional at our disposal?" Mycroft is standing in the doorway to the spacious sitting room, watching Sherlock balance on an A-ladder trying to shove their grandmother's old star on top of the tree. "He would have kept things colour-coordinated," the older Holmes tuts.

John chuckles. It's not surprising that his brother-in-law, always the prim and proper one, would get twitchy over Sherlock's rather bohemian setup. After spreading out all the family heirloom decorations Violet had insisted bringing on the plane, he'd torn open the boxes of new decorations and began draping it all on the handsome spruce which had been delivered that morning. John had insisted that they hang up the lights first, which had made his husband rather stroppy since he thought that sorting out the lights was far more boring than the rest of what tree-decoration entailed.

The fact that John knows that it is impossible to put the lights on _after_ the decorations is yet more evidence that this is something that has been left to others in the Holmes household, and he suspects that Violet would have done it all in the past.

It's Christmas Eve, and there is a huge difference between Sherlock's mood now and how he'd behaved a year ago. Two days ago, his big brother had welcomed them warmly to his home where the pantry was stocked not just with Swiss and British Christmas classics but many kinds of other treats, too. Decorations in tasteful green and gold had been hung up everywhere, fresh white candles awaited a lit match and their guestroom would have fit into any of Zurich's fanciest hotels. But, the surroundings are only half the deal: this year, Sherlock has taken charge in establishing some ground rules with his mother, and things seem to be going alright between them so far. Sherlock seems to be much more relaxed, elated even.

"What sort of a tree is that?" John asks, stepping back to allow Christmas cyclone Sherlock some more room to manoeuvre.

"Blue spruce; _Pinea pungens_. As the name says, it's known for its strong fragrance, but Guillermo said it would go best with the decor. He has a supplier in the Rocky Mountains."

To John it seemed a bit silly to import trees into Europe which was not lacking in conifers. But, Mycroft seemed to have pulled out all the stops to create an opulent Christmas for his family. He had readily agreed when Sherlock had suggested this arrangement; John has wondered if his brother-in-law gets a bit stressed, too, with a traditional family Christmas in Surrey with Violet as a dictator.

"It's a handsome tree," John compliments.

Mycroft briefly looks rather pleased with himself before frowning. "I cannot recall seeing him like this at Christmas. Never seemed to like any of it."

John nods, crossing his arms. There's a focussed V between Sherlock's brows as he readjusts the position of a delicate glass star on a high branch. John remembers the first Christmas he'd spent with Sherlock's family; after years of trying to avoid the whole holiday because his parents either drank and fought or were dead and Harry was not in any shape to provide enjoyable company, being welcomed with open arms into a decorated cottage with as many fresh mince pies on offer as he could possibly stuff down, he'd been over the moon. Finally, he got to experience a bit of what storybooks and films always praised about the holiday. Of course, he'd quickly began picking up on the tensions in the Holmes family and learned that for Sherlock, Christmas was not for relaxation but for survival. Realising Sherlock endured all of it for him — until Sherlock no longer could stomach the way his mother treated him — had been something of a gut punch for John. The last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to be uncomfortable or depressed.

Last Christmas had been shite. Which is why John's heart swells with pride as he watches Sherlock smiling as he inspects the fruits of his labour.

"Isn't it a bit too much? Looks rather American," comes a familiar voice from the kitchen door. Violet, glass in hand, is scanning the tree up and down.

"This is the way it's going to look this year, and _I_ _like it_ ," Sherlock announces. "You are officially off duty. Mycroft, get Mummy some more calvados."

"But I've already had quite a few sloshes," Violet protests.

"Oh, go on," John says. "You don't need to be so steady on your feet this year since there's no cooking for you to do."

He glances outside from the large windows reaching all the way to the upstairs landing. The cityscape on the opposite shore of Lake Zurich is lit as the darkness is setting in, and the lanterns hanging outside are colouring the falling snow in warm, yellow tones. Mycroft's attractive lakeside villa is located in Seefeld, one of Zurich's most prestigious residential areas. Purchased from an Eton friend who had later become a diplomat, Mycroft has called it home for six years, now, yet it is the first time Sherlock and John have visited.

The sound of the TV can be heard from Mycroft's study; there is a small TV set and a leather sofa there and George has taken to the spot to watch some sports.

"Father; care for some port?" Mycroft calls out.

"Yes, please, Mikey."

Flinching slightly at the nickname, Mycroft asks, "John?"

"Could use some coffee, actually." Considering Sherlock's mood, he might need the extra boost of energy later tonight. He wonders if it's deliberate that Mycroft had put them in the new wing of the house, far away from everyone else.

Mycroft's housekeeper is carrying away the ladder since the tree is now done, and Sherlock has picked up a leaflet from a side table. "What's this?"

"That's just an explanation of Guillermo's services."

"Blowjobs on page nine?" Sherlock quips in a low voice so that their mother wouldn't hear. When they had met the Spanish _holiday designer_ , as the man has described himself, he'd teased Mycroft that it must have been a euphemism for something way more debauched.

"Just look at him with all that chest hair on display and the jewellery; clearly, Mycroft has found himself a man toy", is what Sherlock commented last night as they headed to bed.

John had giggled. "It's _toy boy_ , Sherlock. Isn't he straight?"

Sherlock had shrugged. "I guess beggars can't be choosers. Don't kick a gift horse in the pants and all that."

"You're a brat," John had told him and tackled him onto the bed.

"See?" Mycroft now asks, stabbing the leaflet in Sherlock's hand with his forefinger. "He has a long-established legitimate business; he's the most sought-after event planner in the country."

Sherlock holds the leaflet up; the spread he shows John is clearly the colour scheme Mycroft had picked for the house. " _Golden Empire_ ," Sherlock reads out loud. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Give me that!" Mycroft tells him, but his brother snatches the leaflet away.

"Or what?"

"Or–– or–– the fondue rule will be renegotiated."

Sherlock's eyes go wide and jaw drops in mock amazement. "You wouldn't _dare_!" He slips between John and Mycroft, heads up the short set of steps towards the dining area, and continues reading out loud from the leaflet.

" _Echoes of empires past flirt with classic, tasteful European aesthetic in this gilded package suited best for the most luxurious private residencies––"_ He disappears around a corner, Mycroft in indignant pursuit.

"Oh, those two," Violet sighs fondly. "Sometimes it's as though they're still my unruly schoolboys. There is a Christmas service in the Grossmünster tomorrow morning; George and I were thinking of attending. Would you be interested, John?"

Usually, when it comes to Christmas proceedings, Violet does not ask but compels, so a polite request is a step in the right direction. "Thank you, but I think we'll sleep in." As entertaining as it would be to John to listen to Sherlock grumbling about organised religion, John is not that keen to go, and they had already visited the church on their old town walk the day before. While George and Mycroft visited the Rietberg Museum's renowned art collections, Sherlock had surprised everyone by agreeing to accompany Violet to some Christmas markets. John had been dragged along, mostly to carry bags. Sherlock's purchases had consisted of chocolate and honey, neither of which John protested to in any way.

He'd lingered behind the mother-son pair as they wandered around the city's oldest Christmas market on Niederdorfstrasse, enjoying the atmosphere and the warmth of the mulled wine they'd just had prickling his nose. Sherlock had opted for hot chocolate, of course; John knows he finds mulled wine as off-putting as he does fondue. He'd held his ground as Violet, out of habit, tried to micromanage his food choices, and told her that he was perfectly capable of choosing for himself and that he'd appreciate if she concentrated on deciding for herself. She had backed out of that conversation, as she has begun to do. John knows that Sherlock's visit to Surrey to watch the documentary had been a game-changer between the two of them, but things are still brittle, and Sherlock seems to seek his backup more often, now, when dealing with Violet. Perhaps, before, he hadn't felt as though John understood what was so problematic about their relationship. John likes to think he has now been well-educated, thanks to the efforts of both Sherlock and Doctor Pichler.

"There's still room in John's pile of gifts," Sherlock had joked as they perused the offerings of a knitwear stall. He'd grabbed a hideous, reindeer-adorned bright green woollen hat and stuck it on John. "There. Perfect."

Violet was laughing. John was not.

"You just want me to look weird so you'd look great next to me."

"I do look great next to you," Sherlock points out. "Opposites complement one another."

A brief analysis by John seemed to point to this being a rather back-handed compliment, but he'd still dragged the Holmeses away from the stall.

Suddenly, a paper plane flies down into the sitting room from the upstairs landing. It takes John but a second to recognise that it had been constructed from Guillermo's leaflet.

Mycroft appears, looking slightly flushed from darting around the house after his brother, just as Sherlock saunters down the spiral staircase, looking delectable smug.

Mycroft unearths his phone and flips through a list. "Let's see if I have this right. Tonight, we shall have traditional Swiss ham and scalloped potatoes without in-baked milk or cheese, with local bread and a variety of hard and soft cheeses, green salad with the dressing separate, smoked salmon with mustard and dill sauce, hard spice cookies, ginger nut biscuits and nougat. Anna promises to have everything ready in twenty minutes; just enough time for me to pop down to the cellar to pick some wines."

John can wager a guess who had insisted on leaving out milk and cheese from the potatoes, insisted that salad dressing be kept separate, and demanding ginger nuts. A bit of a strange spread, but John would be willing to stuff sushi into tacos if that's what it took to spare them from Sherlock and Violet's food wars and to ensure that Sherlock would actually enjoy himself.

  
_______________

Late that evening, John wonders through the empty house, admiring how the copious string lights are reflected on all the ornaments. The quiet sound of Luciano Pavarotti is streaming in from the upstairs fireplace lounge; it has a screen and DVD projector which Mycroft had set up for Violet so that she and George could watch a Christmas concert. Instead of the whole family being stuffed into the smallish sitting room in the Surrey cottage on Violet's insistence, everyone is doing what they most enjoy even if it entails not spending every minute in a bigger group.

John finds Sherlock in the heated conservatory. There are white poinsettias arranged tastefully around the space with two large sofas covered with fluffy sheepskins. Sherlock is draped across one of them, wrist resting on the edge of the coffee table, fingers in a box of chocolates he has obviously snuck in from the kitchen.

John flips down the cardboard lid to see the brand. "Sprüngli? Never heard of it."

"Local chocolatier. Much better than all that bulk Lindt Mycroft always brings Mummy and father. He may be an obnoxious git, but he knows good food."

John notices that 'Sherlock' has actually been written on the cover with a marker. Mycroft much know his brother has a serious sweet tooth.

"He made sure they didn't put in any flavours I dislike. I appreciate the gesture," Sherlock admits and pop another piece into his mouth. A third of the small box is gone.

John sits down next to it. "For the first time, you've got a Christmas appetite."

Sherlock scoots closer so that he can put his head on John's lap. "For the first time, I feel like Christmas accommodates me."

The statement is plain and sounds rather emotionless, but it still twists in John's gut. "Looking forward to Verbier?"

They are leaving for the skiing centre in two days. John is not that skilled — or keen — a skier, but he loves the Alpine scenery in Valais Canton, and he likes watching Sherlock on the slopes. This is the first time that they will be joined by Mycroft, who says he will keep John company when they go out; the older Holmes does not have his brother's adventurous streak, so while Sherlock heads off piste to enjoy some fresh powder on demanding routes, Mycroft and John will hit a few friendly, easy slopes in town and then retreat to a long lunch. Violet and George have opted out, planning on heading instead to Geneva to see some museums.

Sherlock nods, mouth full of chocolate.

"Ready for bed?" John asks and adds just a bit of mischief and suggestiveness into his tone.

"Depends on whether you plan to sleep in it or do something more interesting." Sherlock sits up and wasted no time in straddling John. He's taller, so has to fold down for a kiss.

John pulls his lower lip between his teeth and grabs handfuls of pert bottom so that he call pull Sherlock as close as he can. "Don't think that's the last thing you'll put in your mouth tonight." Watching Sherlock go down on him would be the crowning glory of an already wonderful day.

"Bossy," Sherlock complains.

"Your efforts will be rewarded, I promise."

"I feel like they already are."

He climbs off John, grabs his wrist and pulls him to his feet.

"Now who's bossy," John teases.

As they walk through the sitting room, they are forced to pause by the windows to take in the sight of the moon over Lake Zurich spreading its pale light over the snow-clad hills behind the Old Town. In the cold, faint, white light, Sherlock looks incredibly delicate and almost translucently pale, like a supernatural creature sent down to Earth for Christmas. John pulls him into a kiss, draping his arms around Sherlock's waist and burying his head in his neck once their lips part.

"We got Christmas all wrong before," John whispers, nodding towards Mycroft who has dozed off in a wingback chair with a book in his lap. "Even your brother's relaxed instead of acting like he's in a business meeting. All we needed to do was to topple the empress."

"Only to be replaced with the gilded emperor," Sherlock giggles quietly. "I agree, the concept needed to be upgraded. A Christmas 2.0, if you will." He tugs at John's wrist again. "Now come on, the night's a-wasting, and this one is sure as hell _not_ going to be silent."

 ****  
  
— The End —

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Christmas gift to all my amazing fandom friends — you are too numerous to all be listed, but I must give special mentions to 7PercentSolution, ASilverGirl, 88thparallel, Anyawen, tinysartorius, Podfixx, khorazir, Seaweedwrites, Sandrina, shiplocks-of-love, Swissmiss, shelleysprometheus, anotherwellkeptsecret, fellshish, elwinglyre, bluebellofbakerstreet, inevitably-johnlocked and sincerely-chaos and finally MY.EXTRA.NOODLE.


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